


To see the world anew

by Igerna



Category: Holby City
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-12
Updated: 2017-06-30
Packaged: 2018-11-13 09:01:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11181441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Igerna/pseuds/Igerna
Summary: After the death of her daughter Elinor, Serena leaves on sabbatical, whereupon she travels the world and comes to a realisation about her sexuality. Six months later, she returns to Holby to find AAU is being run by Major Bernie Wolfe.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> AU where they don't meet until after Serena returns from sabbatical. 
> 
> This began life as a relatively short oneshot but mushroomed into something rather larger and messier. I owe huge thanks to ddagent for her amazing story doctoring powers and considerable patience in working through far too many drafts of this, to turn it into something coherent. Thank you!

Serena gazes up at the hospital building. It seems to have grown larger in her absence. Or perhaps she is diminished. For years the hospital and the work she did there had been the most important things in her life. Then Elinor had died and everything had fallen to pieces in spectacular fashion. And now the hospital no longer feels a place of safety and familiarity; instead it is an adversary, an Everest to be conquered. It seems forbidding even in the sunshine of a gloriously blue September morning. 

“I see the wanderer has returned, Ms Campbell.”

Serena starts and turns her gaze from the doors of the Wyvern Wing to the voice behind her. 

“Henrik!”

Hanssen eyes her critically. She sees him taking in the changes in her appearance: the loss of weight, evident in the months before her departure, is more pronounced now; the hair is shorter and tinged with silver; the eyes she knows are still sad but have lost their haunted appearance. 

“You look well, Serena.”

Hanssen sounds pleased. She is glad. She hopes they are still friends; it is a relationship she had tested sorely, like every other in her life, in those dark months after Elinor’s death. 

“I feel…” She pauses. She is not recovered: she is not sure she ever will be. She is never going to be the Serena of old. But her grief is less palpable now, more manageable and less overwhelming. The blind fury that had engulfed her after Elinor’a death has by and large dissipated. In those final weeks at Holby she had ceased to recognise herself: the angry cruelty with which she had treated Jasmine had shocked and terrified her. She had needed the time away, she knows that. She hopes she has used it wisely. 

“I feel improved” she says eventually. Henrik nods. 

“I’m glad you are returned to us. You have been missed.”

***  
An hour later Serena concludes that Henrik’s words had been a pretty lie because she does not appear to have been missed at all. In fact, Henrik’s evident pleasure in seeing her has been the only bright spot in what has thus far been a truly terrible morning. 

Serena’s first patient of the day presents herself before she has even set foot on the ward: as she stands in the queue at Pulses in fact. A young woman staggers through the entrance, breathing laboured and retches, splattering the floor with bright red blood, before collapsing unconscious. Serena responds on instinct, calling for a porter and a trolley, a thrill of adrenaline running through her. _I've missed this_ she thinks.

But when she arrives with the patient on AAU, things take a distinctly downward turn. No sooner is she through the doors and looking for Fletch to direct her to a free bay, than her progress is blocked by a tall blonde woman of around her own own age, dressed in AAU scrubs and apparently determined to prevent Serena from treating her patient. 

“What have we got?” the blonde asks as Serena approaches.

“It’s ok, I’ve got this one” Serena replies. 

The blonde stares at Serena for several long moments. “Thank you, but we’ll take it from here”. 

“She’s my patient.”

“Look” the other woman says “I don’t know who you are but I'm in charge here and you need to leave me to do my job.”

Serena stares at the stranger, partly in shock at being so roundly dismissed on her own ward and partly because she's a little bit mesmerised by the stranger, with her striking cheekbones and messy blonde hair.

The unknown doctor, flanked by an equally unfamiliar nurse, whisk the patient away to a free bay, leaving Serena standing in the middle of AAU feeling foolish. 

“Serena- welcome back!”

She turns to look at the ward manager. “Fletch” she says, her voice throbbing with barely concealed anger “who the hell was that and what is she doing on my ward?”

***  
That, as it turned out, was Major Berenice Wolfe, lately of the Royal Army Medical Corps and now acting clinical lead for AAU, having arrived at Holby five months earlier via an IED, a fractured neck and a pseudo-aneurysm of the left ventricle. 

_Oh brilliant_ , Serena thinks, _it's not enough that they replace me, they have to replace me with a sodding war hero. A gorgeous war hero, with legs that go on forever and a fascinating medical history._

Serena fumes silently as she makes her way to the consultants’ office, opens the door and surveys the chaos within. _Make that a gorgeous war hero with zero organisational abilities and a distinct distaste for paperwork_ , Serena thinks. 

She has just about cleared her desk of detritus and booted up her PC when the woman in question opens the door, marches up to Serena’s desk and offers her hand. 

“Ms Campbell- Bernie Wolfe. I'm terribly sorry about the misunderstanding. I wasn't informed you were returning today.”

Serena takes a good look at Bernie, really looks at her. Bernie Wolfe, Serena realises, is beautiful. She even looks good in the hideously unflattering garments that are a set of scrubs. Serena feels a sudden pull of desire. She pushes it firmly to one side.

“I see- so you're needlessly rude to all unknown doctors who cross your path. Charming. And here was I thinking army officers were required to have manners.” Serena takes the proffered hand, gives it the most perfunctory of shakes and returns to her inbox.

“I was unaware of your identity” Bernie insists. 

“You didn't ask.”

“I was trying to get on with treating the patient.”

“So was I. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have an appointment with Mr Hanssen.” Serena locks the computer and stalks out of the office towards the lift. 

***  
Serena's meeting with Hanssen does not go as hoped. Despite her vehement objections, he is unmoved as to the necessity of Berenice Wolfe’s presence on AAU, pointing out that running the ward on locums for six months would hardly have been in the best interests of the hospital. When she protests that this hardly provides compelling argument for Bernie's continued tenure in the wake of Serena’s return, Hanssen asks whether this means that Serena has revised her previously held views on the desirability of AAU having two full time consultants attached to it. Recognising she has been out-manoeuvred, Serena retreats, still smouldering, back to AAU.

On her return to the ward, things go from bad to worse. A young man is admitted after a steel bar falls and crushes his arm, damaging the blood supply to the hand. Bernie assumes that as a trauma specialist she will operate; Serena argues that as a vascular surgeon she is better placed. Raf suggests that it might be helpful for them both to be in theatre. On this at least they agree, fixing him with identical icy glares. 

By the end of her shift, Serena is in desperate need of a long bath and a glass or three of wine. She claims she is too exhausted for Albie’s, which is true, but earns her a raised eyebrow apiece from Raf and Fletch. She promises to come another night (when Bernie isn’t working and Serena can be sure she isn’t in attendance because frankly having to deal with the woman in the hospital is bad enough- she's damned if she going to put up with her in her down time as well). 

That night, lying in bed, she contemplates what she has learned of Bernie Wolfe during an afternoon of discreet inquiries with those au fait with hospital gossip. That she had left the army after her accident, ostensibly to rescue her marriage and spend more time with her children. That the marriage had ended in divorce and that her children don’t speak to her. That the reason the marriage had ended was not only the army but the fact that she'd had an affair. That the affair had been with a woman. Serena's brain takes that piece of information and stores it away because she isn't quite sure what to do with it. For while Bernie Wolfe is without a doubt the most infuriating woman Serena has ever had the misfortune to meet, she's also unquestionably the most attractive. 

***  
That Serena views another woman as an object of desire is a recent development: a surprising discovery made one night in Paris during her sabbatical. She had met Lucie in a cafe one evening in Montmartre, a crowded little place with jazz and wine which made Serena wish she smoked- and that smoking in public places wasn’t banned. They had struck up a conversation about the novel Serena was reading. Lucie had complimented Serena on her French; Serena had thanked her for her un-Parisienne overlooking of the imperfections in Serena’s accent. They had shared a bottle of wine and flirted and then Lucie had walked with Serena backed to her hotel, a small place standing in the shadow of the Sacre-Coeur. Serena had kissed Lucie on the cheek and Lucie had surprised Serena by returning the kiss on the lips. She had astonished herself by responding; still further by inviting Lucie up to her hotel room. Lucie was vivacious and attractive and when she kissed her, Serena felt more alive than at any point in the long months since she had lost Elinor. 

Except when she was stood in her hotel room, Serena had frozen. It had suddenly felt all wrong. Not that there was a woman in her hotel room, but that there was anyone in her hotel room at all. She wasn't ready. Elinor's death was simply too raw. Mindless sex with a complete stranger seemed either frivolous or desperate. Serena had burst into tears. 

Lucie’s response had been to open the mini bar, pour Serena a stiff gin and tonic and hold her while she wept. When Serena had cried her fill, Lucie had tucked her into bed, given her a kiss on the cheek, and departed. She hadn’t left a number. 

But the evening with Lucie had opened Serena’s eyes to a side of her sexuality she had never known. She began to notice women, moved from objective observation that a woman was good looking to feeling the occasional tug of desire. Realised that it was something she was open to, if the opportunity arose.  
***  
As she ponders her fellow consultant after that first, disastrous shift back on AAU, Serena feels anew that realisation that she is happy to contemplate a romantic relationship with another woman. Eager even, for an opportunity which might come along in the future. But not, whatever her manifold physical attractions, with Major Berenice Wolfe, she tells herself firmly, before rolling over and drifting into exhausted sleep.

***  
The second day after Serena's return is, if anything , worse than the first. Serena arrives to find Bernie already ensconced in the consultants’ office, her workspace littered with used coffee cups and sandwich wrappers and a stack of files teetering on the edge of the desk.

“I was always under the impression” Serena says as she surveys the chaos in front of her “that the military relied on order and discipline.” 

“And I've always believed patients to be more important than paperwork” Bernie bites back. “We all have our strengths, hmm?”

At lunchtime, a young boy is referred up from the ED with acute abdominal pain. Serena examines him and immediately diagnoses an appendix which is dangerously close to rupturing. But no sooner has she asked Morven to book theatre, than Bernie appears at her elbow.

“You're not planning to operate are you?” She asks without preamble.

“What do you suggest I do?” Serena inquires archly. “give him two paracetamol and some chocolate buttons? His appendix is about to rupture.”

“I’ll do it” Bernie says at once.

“Thank you Ms Wolfe but he's my patient- and you have a lovely stack of backdated paperwork to be getting on with.”

“Ms Campbell, may I have a word in our office?”

Serena glares at the use of the possessive pronoun but follows the blonde.”

“Well?” She demands once Bernie has closed the door.

“Do you really think it's wise for you to do the operation?”

“I am a surgeon Ms Wolfe. Operations are rather the purpose of my employment in this hospital” Serena retorts drily. 

“When was the last time you actually picked up a scalpel? You haven't set foot in a theatre for six months” Bernie responds. “You must be rusty to say the least. I really think it would be better to ease yourself back in gently, with something less…urgent.”

“Really. And what do you suggest? Removing an ingrowing toenail?”

Bernie merely stares, unblinking. “You know I'm right” she says. The tone of utter certainty gives Serena a strong desire to throw something. 

“Fine. Mr Di Lucca’s free: I trust you won't need my ‘rusty’ assistance. I'll do the afternoon ward round, provided you think that's within my limited capabilities.”

Serena sweeps from the room, furious with Bernie for her interference, and even more so for being correct. 

***  
The remainder of the week is blissfully free of irritating army majors, as they work opposite shifts and divide up the weekend consultant cover between them. But the following Monday they are once again rostered on together. 

Serena arrives early and allows herself a cup of coffee in a Bernie free office, before checking her email, only to find a missive from Hanssen requesting her immediate presence.

She makes her way to the lifts and up to the suite of management offices on the seventh floor. Serena knocks and opens the door without awaiting a response: Henrik is expecting her after all. But when she enters the room she finds to her surprise that it has a third occupant. 

“Ah, Ms Campbell, thank you for joining us” Hanssen says. “Please, take a seat.” 

She drops into the vacant chair in front of his desk and fixes her eyes on him expectantly. 

“I've been giving some thought to how to proceed with the leadership of AAU now Ms Campbell has rejoined us.” Hanssen begins. “While Ms Wolfe’s assignment as acting clinical lead of AAU was of course only ever intended to be temporary, during the period of Ms Campbell's sabbatical she has done an exemplary job and it cannot be denied that the ward has run both smoothly and efficiently in Ms Campbell’s absence.”

Serena glowers at Bernie.

“Ms Campbell meanwhile has been absent from the hospital for some months and I think would benefit from a period of transition as she eases her way back into the ward. I therefore propose that the two of you co-lead the ward for a period.”

Serena finds herself glancing involuntarily at Bernie to gauge the blonde’s reaction, only to find the other woman watching her intently. She returns her gaze to Hanssen.

“Shall we say three months, initially?”

Silence.

“That sounds reasonable to me” Bernie offers eventually.

“Ms Campbell?”

“Do I have a choice?” 

Hanssen turns to Bernie. “Would you mind leaving us, Ms Wolfe?”

Bernie shakes her head and slips out of the door. 

“Do you have a problem with the proposed arrangement Ms Campbell?”

“Yes!” Serena explodes. “I can't work with her! She’s officious, arrogant, overbearing, hopelessly disorganised...And I am perfectly capable of running the ward alone- goodness knows I did it for long enough before.”

“Serena” Hanssen begins gently. “Please believe me when I say I do not lack confidence in your abilities, surgically or administratively. I'm doing this out of concern for your welfare, not as a punishment.” 

Serena rises, knowing the conversation is over. 

“Serena? Please try to make an effort with Ms Wolfe. I think you would make an excellent team, if your pride will allow.

***  
The weeks which follow Hanssen’s decision to make them co-leads of AAU are an unmitigated disaster. She and Bernie snap and snarl at one another, fighting for dominance on the ward and command of the staff. They disagree on everything, from management of the care of individual patients, to who should mentor the new F1s. Sharing an office is fraught: Bernie's desk is a constant mess of leftover food and incomplete paperwork and Serena growls at her when it spills into her own ordered workspace. 

Bernie seems to have crept into all areas of Serena’s life in her absence. Even Jason has embraced her. She happens upon the pair of them in Pulses one day, deep in conversation about a documentary both had watched the evening before. She rails inwardly at the easy rapport Bernie appears to have with her nephew, a rapport which she herself has lost. They are still struggling to readjust, she and Jason, to recalibrate their relationship without Elinor, in the wake of Serena’s rage and neglect.

The staff too have accepted her leadership with ease. Serena watches one day through the window of the office as Bernie rounds the ward, sees the respect in the eyes of Fletch and Lou and the other nurses; the near reverence from Morven. The last stings especially. Morven, who Serena has guided since her first day as an academically brilliant but slightly gauche F1. Morven, who she had paired with Arthur, under who's tutelage both had blossomed, professionally and personally. Morven, who Serena had held as she cried after Arthur’s death. Morven, who had reached out to Serena after Elinor, and been soundly rebuffed for her trouble. Serena is proud of the doctor Morven has become, of the surgeon she is becoming, but it hurts to see the bond between her and Bernie. Serena is more than a little jealous to witness how Morven has flourished without her. 

Serena desperately wishes she had someone to talk to about the insecurity she feels in relation to her role on the ward, her hostile reaction to her co-lead. Once upon a time she would have spoken to Raf, long her closest confidant in the hospital. He had been a steady and comforting presence after Elinor’s death and had borne the brunt of both her anger and her tears before her sabbatical. She had repaid him with ingratitude and rejection. But Raf too appears to have fallen under the spell of Berenice Wolfe. She watches them, heads bent over a tablet examining a scan, sees Raf laugh and Bernie smile in a way that bespeaks professional camaraderie. 

She turns from the window and her eyes fall on the photograph that sits on Bernie’s desk. Serena reaches out and picks it up, studying it carefully. It shows Bernie standing between a young man and a teenage girl. The girl is clearly her daughter, so strong is the resemblance between the two: she is coltishly tall and slim and has inherited her mother’s nose and her unruly blonde hair. The young man Serena assumes to be Bernie's son. Bernie herself is dressed in combat fatigues, carefree and beautiful, looking far younger and happier than Serena has ever seen her, though Serena knows that Bernie's daughter is the same age as Elinor, that the photograph can only be a few years old at most. The three of them are smiling broadly at the camera. They look the very picture of a happy family and Serena would wonder how on earth they had manage to fracture so resoundingly, if only she wasn't painfully aware of how easy it can be.

She hears the door creak open and turns to see Bernie. Serena starts guiltily, embarrassed to be caught snooping at Bernie’s possessions, and hastily replaces the photograph on the desk. Bernie only stares at her, the expression on her face unreadable, holds Serena's gaze until Serena turns and walks from the room. 

***  
The friction between Serena and Bernie culminates on a Thursday towards the end of October. The shift starts badly: the very first patient through the doors is a cause of discord. A teenaged girl has presented with acute abdominal pain. Serena orders a scan and routine bloods, all of which come back looking completely normal. 

“You do realise she's faking” Bernie says, when two hours of investigation have yielded nothing.

“And you know this how?” Serena asks, bristling. “You haven't even examined her.”

“I don't need to” Bernie retorts. “The tests are negative. She's fine. Discharge her: she's taking up a valuable bed.”

“Thank you for your opinion Ms Wolfe but if you don't mind I'll decide when to discharge my patients.”

Serena is positive the girl isn't faking. She's simply too sincere, the pain too apparent. Serena is certain there is something there, if she can only work out what the matter is. 

An hour later, Bernie again raises the prospect of discharge. “There's nothing wrong with her” she argues. “She probably just wants the day off school.”

“Need I remind you I am a consultant and co-lead on this ward, Ms Wolfe, and this is my patient.”

Fifteen minutes later the girl collapses and Serena has to whisk her into theatre for life-saving surgery.

When she returns to their shared office, Bernie is seated at her desk. “How is she?” She asks.

“She’ll be fine” Serena replies and then adds, with mounting fury, “no thanks to you. You do realise that if I'd discharged her and she'd been at home or school when she collapsed that child would be dead by now. Your cavalier ‘shape ‘em up and ship ‘em out’ approach may work in the field Major Wolfe, but here at Holby we hold life at rather higher value.”

She turns and stalks out of the office, childishly pleased at having been proven correct. 

The shift goes from bad to worse. She and Bernie are incapable of communicating without growling at one another. Mid-afternoon, the tension erupts into a stand up row between the two consultants in the middle of AAU. They have clashed, once again, about patient care. The tone has long since left the realms of professional disagreement and the discussion is being carried out at a volume that allows most of the ward to hear. 

Suddenly, Bernie appears to register that they are standing by the nurses’ station and that all the staff are listening. She stops short, takes hold of Serena’s arm and propels her forcibly into their office. 

“How dare you?” Serena spits out. “What on earth do you think you’re doing?”

“I thought you might prefer to continue this conversation away from the ears of our colleagues and patients. But I suppose it’s too much to expect professionalism from a woman who physically assaults her colleagues.”

Serena blanches as the truth of Bernie's words hits home but then anger flares and she rounds on her fellow consultant, her voice venomous.

“Well I wouldn't expect empathy from a woman who doesn't speak to her own children. What kind of mother are you? At least Elinor never doubted that I loved her. I doubt the same can be said of yours.”

Bernie looks as though Serena has slapped her. She turns on her heel and nearly runs from the room. Serena watches her leave, horrified by the force of her own tongue.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who read, left kudos and commented on chapter one. I fear chapter two may be rather less smutty than some of you would like...
> 
> Many many thanks again to the wonderful ddagent for reading drafts, encouraging, and buying too much coffee!

Serena sits in her car outside Bernie's house, rehearsing what to say. She doesn't do apologising usually. Can't abide admitting that she might be wrong. But she knows she must talk to Bernie, attempt to undo the damage before it is too late, before the running of the ward becomes completely untenable. Still, it is not a prospect she is viewing with relish. 

She exits the car and walks up the path, steels herself and knocks on the door. There is a pause and then the sound of footsteps and the door opens.

“Serena!”

Bernie is standing in the doorway, barefoot in skinny jeans and a slim fitting black shirt. Serena realised she's never seen Bernie in civvies before and she dimly wonders why Bernie always wears scrubs, because she looks shockingly good in jeans and a shirt. Perhaps, Serena muses, it's an army thing, that Bernie likes to hide behind a uniform. Or maybe it's because in her post army life, ‘surgeon’ is central to Bernie’s identity. Then again, perhaps Bernie just wants to minimise the possibility of a drunk throwing up on her clothes. 

“Can I come in?” Serena asks. 

“I, er, of course.” Bernie stand aside and ushers Serena inside the compact terraced house. “Take a seat” she says, when they are in the living room. “Can I get you anything? Tea? Coffee? Wine?”

“I brought this” Serena brandishes a wrapped bottle. “Though it was intended as a peace offering rather than bring your own refreshments.”

“Thank you.” Bernie takes the bottle, unwrapping a thirty year old bottle of single malt. “This is lovely.” She fetches two tumblers from the kitchen, sets them down on the coffee table and pours a generous slug of Scotch into each, handing Serena her glass. 

“Thank Ric- it was his recommendation; I know nothing about whisky I'm afraid. Bernie, I came to apologise.”

“Really, Serena there's no need.”

“There's every need.” Serena says sharply. “I behaved abominably. I should never have insinuated you don't love you children. It was unforgivable.” She takes a sip of whisky, blanching slightly at the peaty flavour.

“Not a fan of Islay?” 

“Prefer the lighter ones to be honest.” 

“You didn't say anything other people haven't thought- or said.” Bernie says quietly. “Including my ex-husband. He never understood how I could leave them when I was on tour. Said it was unnatural.”

Serena’s eyes flash with anger. “Well that's a lovely bit of misogyny, isn't it?”

Bernie shrugs. “It is what it is. The politics of it doesn't change the fact that my children feel I abandoned them and they don't talk to me as a result.” 

“I truly am sorry. I was angry and I lashed out.” Serena takes another gulp of Scotch. “I thought I'd worked past the anger. I should probably find a therapist over here.” At Bernie’s tilt of the head she smiles weakly. “Contrary to probable appearances, I have made efforts to work through my grief and I have sought professional help. It's just therapy is…”

“A long process” Bernie finishes.

Serena gives Bernie a piercing look, eyebrow raised. 

Bernie looks back at her, eyes dark and serious. “Post traumatic stress disorder” she says, succinctly. 

“The IED?”

“Oh, you heard about that?”

“Well, it's a pretty dramatic tale” Serena observes. “The hospital grapevine needs feeding somehow. Plus it's a story that involves Guy Self and theatrical heroics, so your medical confidentiality was never going to last long I'm afraid.”

“I guess. Yes, the IED and…other things.” Bernie pauses as though considering whether to speak further. 

“I was in and out of the army for a long time” she says slowly. “My first tour of duty was in Bosnia, but I saw active service in Iraq and Afghanistan as well. I've seen…well, I've seen some of the very worst that human beings can do to one another. Not just the physical injuries, though there were certainly plenty of those, but the emotional damage of conflict.”

The speech is careful, measured, as though she is giving voice to thoughts not often spoken. Serena realises that this is probably the case: Bernie gives her the impression of being the very epitome of British stiff upper lip. She wonders dimly why Bernie is confiding her; it’s not as though they’re even friends. 

“I don't think it's possible to see what I have seen and not bear some psychological scarring. Not unless you have psychopathic tendencies” Bernie adds, with a touch of levity. “Anyway, it left its mark and eventually I realised that I ought to do something about it before it got the better of me.”

Serena nods. “I'm glad to hear it.” 

Bernie swirls the whisky around the glass. “Serena, I owe you an apology too.”

“No you don’t. You were absolutely correct. I was cruel to Jasmine and she should have reported me. I should have lost my job. I accept that. I owe her a great deal.”

“You were- are- grieving.”

Serena smiles tightly. “Losing Elinor….I lost sight of myself completely.” She sets the tumbler on the coffee table, fiddles with the pendant at her neck. “I truly believe it's possible to go mad with grief.” 

“I think that kind of loss, it's- well it's incomprehensible. Maybe the brain simply can't cope.” Bernie muses. 

“Other people manage.”

“Do they? Does anyone ever really recover from the loss of a child? And it wasn't only Elinor was it, Jason was badly injured too. And…”

“And what?”

“Forgive me, but you had to do it all on your own. Nobody to share the load. It’s a hell of a burden to bear Serena.”

“Don’t make excuses for me” Serena snarls. “I told a beautiful, talented young woman that I wished she were dead, because I couldn’t bear that she was alive and whole and sitting in front of me. What kind of monster does that make me?”

“It makes you a mother who lost her child.” Bernie replies quietly. “A mother who desperately wished she could change things and couldn’t. A mother who would give anything to have her child back. It makes you human.” She pauses. “I’m not making excuses. I’m not trying to minimise what you did. But it was driven by love, in the end.”

Serena swipes furiously at her eyes with the back of her hand. Blinks a couple of times for good measure. Stares into the dregs of her whisky, thanks Bernie for the drink and leaves. 

***  
Overnight the relationship between the two consultants on AAU shifts palpably, from outright hostility, to professional respect. The rest of the staff breath a collective sigh of relief. 

A week later, a coach skids on a patch of oil on a motorway, careening into the central reservation and taking six other vehicles with it. AAU is flooded with casualties. Bernie suggests running the ward like a field hospital to stop it collapsing under the strain and Serena acquiesces readily, if a little sceptically, feeling she still owes Bernie for her vicious behaviour.

Serena marvels that someone who is so chaotic most of the time (everything about Bernie is messy, from her hair, to her desk, to her filing), can be such a picture of organised efficiency when running a major incident. Bernie seems to grow an extra couple of inches, barks orders to everyone in sight and marshals them into a coherent team. This is Bernie in her natural habitat, Serena thinks: confident, self assured and extremely capable. 

It is in surgery however, that Bernie soars. By a combination of shift patterns, an unusually quiet October and tactical avoidance, they have yet to share a theatre. But a young woman thrown from her car when the coach collided is badly injured and two surgeons are a necessity. 

Serena contemplates Bernie as they scrub in. Life threatening injuries aside, she is rather looking forward to operating with her: Bernie's surgical reputation is formidable and Serena is intrigued to see her in action.

They set to work, attempting to stem the internal bleeding and allow them to address the patient’s injuries before she bleeds out. Serena watches as Bernie examines the spleen for damage.

“Got it!” Bernie’s eyes flit briefly up from the patient’s abdominal cavity to look at Serena. “Can you?”

“Of course.” Serena reaches in to apply pressure, her fingers meeting Bernie’s. “It’s a significant tear” she ventures, “but I don’t think it explains the extent of the bleed.”

“I agree” Bernie nods as she sutures. “It doesn't explain the bleeding. There's another injury somewhere, but if we can get this one under control then we can take a look at what else is going on.”

“Are you sure we have time?” Serena asks. “Her BP is falling through the floor: she’s losing blood faster than we can get it in.”

“Then apply more pressure. I’m not removing the spleen of a healthy 25 year old unless I have to,” Bernie replies in a tone that brooks absolutely no argument. 

Serena is silent. She is not at all convinced this is the correct call, is worried that the patient will bleed to death on the table while Bernie works. She watches the monitors, silently willing their patient to survive. 

Bernie finishes suturing. The patient’s BP rises a little, enough to allow them to keep working, to locate the injury to the hepatic artery, which Serena repairs, and the right kidney, which Bernie has to remove. The patient stops losing blood and by the time they hand over to Morven to close up, Serena is quietly confident that she will survive.

“Good call” she says to Bernie, as they scrub out. 

“Thank you.”

As she changes out of her scrubs Serena realises quite how much she had underestimated Berenice Wolfe. Serena knows herself to be an excellent physician, a vascular specialist of considerable ability. But for diagnostic instinct, surgical technique and sheer nerve, she has rarely seen a surgeon to compete with Bernie. 

When the difficult, draining shift is over, Serena trudges up the stairs, still in her scrubs, to Hanssen’s office, where she explains how she proposes they make use of Bernie’s unique and extensive talents.

The following day, Bernie slips into their shared office with two cups of coffee from Pulses, setting one down in front of Serena and perching on the desk in front of her. 

“Thank you” Bernie says. 

“There's no need” Serena says. “We were criminally under-employing you. And AAU needs improved trauma facilities.”

“Still. You didn't have to. I'm very grateful Serena.”

***  
True to her word to Bernie, Serena finds herself a new therapist in Holby. Ian is younger than Serena, which feels a bit odd when they first meet but the rapport is instantaneous. He is frank- to the point of bluntness sometimes, an odd quality in a threrapist but one which Serena appreciates. 

She talks to Ian about the anger which she thought she had conquered during her time away but had flared back into existence when she returned to Holby, surrounded by the ghosts of the past and the scene of her crimes. She talks about her jealousy and initial dislike of Bernie and the friction it caused on the ward. She speaks of her fear that she has irreparably damaged her relationships with those she loves the most. Jason especially, but Raf and Morven and Evie too. They are a family on AAU: they had tried their hardest to take care of her and she had rejected them at every turn. Things have certainly improved, especially now she and Bernie are no longer at loggerheads, but nothing is quite the same as before. It is no longer as easy: there is a wariness, a distance. She worries it can never be undone. 

Eventually she talks to Ian about her recently discovered attraction to women and how it had been a shock at first. She confides that she had wondered if her newfound shift in sexuality was in some way a response to the loss of her daughter, but that she is quite sure it isn't. She is sure, with the benefit of hindsight, that this was always there, waiting to be found. It is luck and only luck that has led her to make this discovery now, at this point in her life. 

***  
Slowly, incrementally, Serena and Bernie become friends. 

It starts at the beginning of December, two months after Serena's return, on a Friday night at the end of a long shift which had involved a tree surgeon who fell off a ladder, two cases of appendicitis and an aneurysm on the verge of rupture. Two hours after their shifts had officially finished, they stagger, along with Morven and Fletch, to Albie’s, where Serena wordlessly purchases a beer for Fletch and red for herself and Morven, then turns to Bernie.

“Scotch?”

“I'll join you in the Shiraz if that's ok.”

Serena smiles warmly at her. “Of course.”

An hour passes quickly, in easy camaraderie. Bernie has just returned from the bar, second bottle of wine in hand, when Fletch grimaces, reaching into his pocket for his insistently buzzing phone. He scrolls through his messages.

“Sorry, I'm going to have to go before the babysitter says she'll never work for me again.”

As he rises to his feet, Morven yawns and checks her watch. “I should probably get going too” she announces. “I'm shattered.”

“Junior doctors these days” Serena complains with a conspiratorial glance at Bernie, “no stamina at all.”

“Just us then” Bernie says, when Morven and Fletch have departed. 

“It would seem so. Pour me another one of those would you” Serena adds, inclining her head towards the bottle. 

They sip their wine in a silence that is surprisingly peaceful. They chat about their days, order food because it's late and they're hungry and neither fancies microwaving a meal for one. 

Before Serena realises it, they have been in the bar for two hours. She finds she enjoys Bernie's company. It really shouldn't surprise her that they have a great deal in common. They are exact contemporaries after all; both women who have struggled in the male dominated world of surgery- struggled all the more for daring to have children at the same time. Suffered both professionally and personally for trying to ‘have it all’ (Serena hates the phrase- nobody questions it when men want to have a career and children at the same time). Serena finds herself inordinately glad to have Bernie as a friend, rather than a rival. 

***  
Two days before Christmas, Serena stands outside Albie’s, glass in hand, gazing at the night sky and wishing fervently that she knew where she’d left her scarf. She was trying very hard to enter into the Christmas spirit, or at the very least, not drag everyone else down with her, but the air of frantic jollity that suffused the party was almost too much to bear. Still, she had to give Jasmine credit for persuading Henrik into antlers. 

She hears the door behind her open and sees Bernie slip out, wrapped in pink wool. Bernie’s cheeks are tinged with the cold, a pleasing accent to the cloud of blonde hair. She really is remarkably beautiful, Serena thinks. 

Bernie halts by Serena’s elbow, pulls out a cigarette and throws Serena a questioning glance. 

“Go ahead” Serena says. 

Bernie lights the cigarette and Serena is struck by how much smoking suits her. She looks elegant and, well, sexy, with a cigarette in her hand. It’s a ridiculously inappropriate thought, Serena knows, partly because Bernie is her colleague and co-lead and erstwhile arch-rival and partly because Serena is a bloody surgeon. Nobody with medical qualifications, who has cut into human flesh and seen the damage that smoking wrought on the human body, should find the habit attractive. 

On Bernie, smoking is sexy. 

Serena realises she must have been staring, because Bernie regards her carefully. “You ok?”

“Yes, yes, I’m fine.”

“Admiring the sky?”

“And the fresh air.” Serena quirks an eyebrow at Bernie and Bernie honks. It is, Serena realises, the first time she has heard Bernie laugh properly. It’s a ridiculous sound, but it’s joyous and free and infectious. 

“I needed some space” Serena says.

“Sorry- I’ll go.”

Serena lays a hand on Bernie’s arm. “No, stay. I didn’t mean that. I…I’ve just had enough of the Christmas spirit I think.”

Bernie nods. “I understand. Similar position myself.”

“Do you have plans?” Serena asks.

“For Christmas?”

Serena nods.

“Working” Bernie responds succinctly. 

“And apart from the work?”

“Scotch and the Doctor Who Christmas special I imagine.”

Serena watches Bernie smoke for a while. Thinks. “You know,” she says eventually. “You’re very welcome to join Jason and I. Doctor Who is compulsory viewing in our household. And I can always buy some Scotch.”

Bernie stares at Serena dumbfounded. “I…” she begins, and then stops. “I wouldn’t want to intrude” she continues and Serena is fairly sure that this is an attempt not to be a burden rather than a polite demurring of an unwanted invitation. 

“You wouldn’t be. Truly. It would be nice to have another person around to be honest. I could do with the distraction.” 

“What about Jason?”

“Jason’s very fond of you: he’ll be delighted” Serena assures her.

“Well if you’re sure, then, yes that would be nice.” 

***  
Christmas is odd. Jason is staying for a week. He is still living with Alan most of the time, though Serena hopes that in the not too distant future he might be persuaded to move back in. She sees the week as something of a trial run, a chance to prove to Jason that the Auntie Serena he met nearly two years ago is still there, that she is still capable of loving him and caring for him, that her grief for Elinor has not buried that Auntie Serena permanently. 

So while it is nice, lovely in fact, to have Jason back under her roof, it doesn’t feel quite comfortable, not yet. She feels too much like she has something to prove, has too much to lose if it goes wrong and she knows she is overcompensating and avoiding any form of disagreement or confrontation so everything has become a bit stilted and formal. Still, they breakfast on croissants and exchange presents in front of the tree that they had decorated the night before. A McKinnie family tradition, Serena had told Jason, which Elinor had always claimed was a fudge for the fact that Serena was always too busy working to get the tree up earlier. 

It isn't a fudge. Her parents had always waited until Serena was in bed on Christmas Eve to put up the tree; she had come down in the morning to find it had appeared, decorated and shining, as if by magic, in the living room, with presents heaped beneath. As an adult Serena had tried to recreate the magic of her childhood in the years after Elinor’s birth, only to find the experience soured by Edward’s repeated absence from proceedings. After the divorce, she had switched to doing the tree on the afternoon of Christmas Eve, just her and Ellie, with a fire lit and King’s College Choir in the background. Their own personal Christmas ritual. 

It feels sad, but right, to continue that ritual with Jason, now Elinor is gone. She cannot allow herself to be permanently subsumed by grief and while life will never be the same, it does need to go on. 

Presents are followed by preparing Christmas dinner and Serena is fervently glad that Jason is here, that she has a reason to go to the effort of the thing. She knows that if Jason had elected to spend Christmas with Alan she wouldn't have bothered. 

They go for a walk after lunch, working off some of the excess of food they had consumed. Serena’s enthusiasm for this is lukewarm at best: she would really rather be curled up in front of the fire with a glass of Shiraz and the novel that Raf had bought her for Christmas. But Jason is insistent that a constitutional will be good for them both, points out that there will be plenty of time for reading and drinking later, and Serena knows better than to argue with Jason in this mood. 

Dusk has fallen by the time they return to the house and Serena lights the fire in the living room, the room warming as much from the glow of the orange flames as from the heat they give off. Jason makes tea and they settle down with a stack of board games which have been buried at the back of the wardrobe in the spare room since last Christmas.

Their second game of Scrabble is well underway, Serena keeping pace with Jason on points only by fortuitous use of medical terminology on a triple word score, when the doorbell rings. 

“How was your shift?” Serena asks, as she ushers Bernie inside, relieving her of her coat and scarf. 

“Mercifully quiet, save for the after-effects of overindulgence of all kinds” Bernie responds with a smile, sitting down heavily on the bench and unzipping her boots. 

“Are you hungry?” 

“Ravenous.”

“Excellent, I over-catered. There's left over Christmas dinner, or turkey sandwiches if you'd prefer. Come into the kitchen.”

Serena piles Bernie’s plate high with Christmas goodies and leads her through to the living room. 

“I’ve just laid ‘Zoology’ with the Z on a triple letter score” Jason announces with glee, as Serena and Bernie sit down on the sofa. 

“I may as well give up now” Serena groans.

“Oh come on Campbell, where’s your fighting spirit?” Bernie admonishes. She leans over to look at Serena’s letters. “You're not having much luck with your tiles are you?” She reaches over and rearranges the letters, then points to a space on the board. 

***  
Half an hour later, Bernie has demolished her dinner and is proving herself to be Jason’s equal on the Scrabble board, much to the latter’s annoyance. He and Bernie have a furious disagreement about the permissibility of army slang, Bernie pointing out that the terminology in question is in the Concise Oxford English Dictionary, which Jason insists on checking, before finding, much to his chagrin, that Bernie was correct.

“Why do I get the feeling you've had this argument before?” Serena murmurs, topping up Bernie’s wine glass.

Bernie smiles at her mischievously and Serena is struck anew by her friend’s attractiveness. She feels something flex and curl within her, the tendrils of burgeoning desire that she had been unsuccessfully attempting to quash since their first meeting.

“Can we watch Doctor Who now?” Jason asks. “We waited for you” he says to Bernie. 

“You didn’t have to do that.”

“We wanted to” Serena tells her. “And yes, but presents first I think Jason.”

“Ah- wait there” Bernie says, jumping up from the sofa and slipping out into the hall. Serena hears the door open then the thud of a car boot shutting. Bernie returns bearing two wrapped gifts. 

Jason’s present from Bernie is a book of Doctor Who infographics; Serena’s, an obscenely expensive bottle of Barossa Valley Shiraz. Serena’s eyes widen at the label.

“I wanted to thank you” Bernie says, before Serena can protest at the extravagance. “For inviting me to share your Christmas. It’s lovely to be here.”

“Well with presents like this you can come again” Serena quips, handing Bernie her own soft parcel. Bernie peels off the sellotape carefully, as Jason had done minutes earlier. Serena herself is more of a ‘tear it off as quickly as possible’ kind of person, can’t quite fathom the patience for methodical unwrapping, nor indeed, the purpose. 

“This is lovely Serena, thank you” Bernie says, unfolding the dove grey cashmere scarf and fingering the wool. She smiles at Serena and tucks the scarf back into the wrapping paper, placing it on the floor by her feet, as Jason turns on the television and loads up iPlayer. 

***  
Once they have exhausted the BBC’s supply of Christmas tv and demolished the Christmas pudding, Jason departs to his room to re-watch Doctor Who and consider where it ranks against the specials of previous years. 

“Can I tempt you to a mince pie?” Serena asks. 

“Go on then, as it’s Christmas.”

“Warmed up?”

“Please.”

Serena puts the mince pies in the oven and potters around the kitchen, tidying up. Through the open door she can see Bernie on the sofa, golden head bent over the book Jason had given her for Christmas, a biography of some military figure Serena had never heard of: Bernie had seemed genuinely delighted with it. 

She allows herself to feel it fully for the first time, her attraction to Bernie. Acknowledge that it was perhaps this, or rather the fear of it, more than anything else, which had contributed to her early, rather extreme response to the other woman. Bernie is a woman, a gorgeous, available lesbian to whom Serena is fiercely attracted. This is quite a different prospect to a one night stand or a holiday romance. Apart from anything else, they work together closely. A fling is out of the question. Anything is out of the question, she tells herself, the consequences could be catastrophic.

“Penny for them?”

Serena starts, then flushes when she realises Bernie is standing next to her, despite knowing that Bernie cannot possibly have any inkling of what she’d been thinking. 

“Goodness you startled me! Woolgathering I'm afraid” she says quickly. “Brandy butter or ice cream with the mince pies?”

“Both?” Bernie asks hopefully.

“Glutton.” 

Serena serves up mince pies into bowls and hands them to Bernie, waving her off in the direction of the living room. She joins her moments later, placing two small glasses and a decanter on the coffee table.

They eat the mince pies in appreciative silence. 

“These are delicious. What have you put in the pastry?”

“Orange. And there's a layer of mascarpone in there too.”

Bernie stops eating and dissects the mince pie. “So there is.” She resumes eating with gusto, placing her empty plate on the table and picking up the glass of port.

“I used to make mince pies every Christmas Eve if I was at home” she says quietly. “Charlotte and Cameron had them for breakfast on Christmas morning. Marcus’ mother thought it was scandalous!”

She stops suddenly, a look of horror on her face.

“Oh Serena, I'm so sorry.”

“Don't be” Serena shakes her head. “Don't ever feel guilty for talking about your children. Elinor’s gone, but I don't begrudge other people theirs.” She smiles at Bernie “tell me about Christmas chez Wolfe.”

Bernie tells Serena about Christmases with Cameron and Charlotte growing up, how they’d creep into one another’s rooms at the crack of dawn and then try to sneak downstairs to open their stockings. How they inevitably made absurd amounts of noise so she and Marcus would always catch them and shoo them back to bed. 

Serena laughs. “It sounds wonderful. I never had that, a sibling to share it with. Nor did Ellie of course.”

“Did you want her to?”

Serena shrugged. “Maybe. Moot point really, given Edward’s behaviour.” She pours more port from the decanter into their glasses. “I can't help wondering how things would have been if I'd grown up with Marjorie- Jason's mother” she explains at Bernie’s questioning look. “Jason and Elinor would have grown up together too.”

“You have each other now, you and Jason” Bernie says. “That's what counts.”

“Yes.”

“It's funny” Bernie says a few minutes later, “thinking about Marcus. The later years were so difficult, it's hard to remember sometimes that we were happy together, for a long time.”

Serena nods. “I suppose it's inevitable with divorce. Edward was always good at Christmas and birthdays- the fun stuff. Well, when he wasn't sneaking off to see another woman, or drunk.”

“I missed too much of the fun stuff” Bernie says wistfully. “Too many birthday parties and Christmas mornings when I was off on tour. No wonder they’re so angry with me.”

“You're too hard on yourself” Serena says. “You were doing important work. And no career in medicine is easy to reconcile with family life. Even if you'd spent your working life on Keller repairing hernias you'd have had to do your share of inconvenient on-calls. I was the same. It's part of the job.”

“I wish Cam and Charlotte understood that” Bernie says, knocking back the rest of her drink. 

“Still no contact?” 

Bernie shakes her head. “I sent them a text this morning, to wish them Merry Christmas, but no response.”

“They’ll come around Bernie” Serena says. “Keep trying.” 

At this Bernie yawns, stretches, then glances at her watch. “Crikey, look at the time” she says. “I really must be going, especially as I have to walk home. Is it ok if I pick up my car in the morning?”

“Of course.”

They stand. Bernie gathers her presents and moves into the hall, wrapping herself against the cold in coat, boots and scarf, then stands by the front door looking a little bit awkward. Serena gives her an exasperated smile and then pulls Bernie into a hug. She catches the scent of her perfume, breathes in the smell of Bernie with pleasure.

“Merry Christmas, Bernie.”

“Merry Christmas, Serena” is the quiet reply.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so to Chapter 3. Two steps forward, one step back...
> 
> Thanks again to ddagent for editing prowess, especially for helping with the location of that bloody flashback :)

Serena volunteers to work New Year. She had wanted Christmas off. Wanted to make sure that she spent proper time with Jason, rather than give in to the temptation to wallow. But Jason is spending the New Year with Alan, and with no other plans, Serena feels free to distract herself with work. It is an unpopular shift, night time on New Year’s Eve, the irritation of working on an evening of celebration compounded by having to patch up the consequences of the revelry. Serena is thankful that it's busy, though she chastises herself for the thought as she removes a ruptured spleen from a teenage boy with a brand new driving licence, a brand new (mangled) car, and a blood alcohol level that is frankly terrifying. She doesn't save him.

By the time shift change rolls around at 7.30 am on January 1st, Serena is exhausted and in desperate need of a hot shower and a long nap. She is in the office, writing up the last of her notes, when Bernie arrives, placing a pain au chocolat and a cup of tea on the desk in front of Serena. 

“Happy New Year!” Bernie says, giving Serena a warm smile. “Thought you could probably do with some sustenance.”

“Thank you” Serena says, sipping the tea gratefully. She watches as Bernie takes off her coat and hangs it, together with the scarf Serena had given her for Christmas, on the coat rack. Bernie seems different somehow. Lighter perhaps. Content. Serena thinks. That was it. 

“You look remarkably chipper for someone whose New Year resolution is to give up the fags!” Serena observes.

“Judicious use of nicotine patches.” Bernie says wryly and Serena laughs.

“And” Bernie continues, in a tone that is trying and failing to conceal her excitement “I had a very good New Year's Eve.” She seats herself on Serena's desk and sips her own drink. 

“Oh, really?” Serena raises a suggestive eyebrow, but the response is pure reflex. Internally she panics. Has Bernie met someone? Why do I dislike that idea so much? 

“No! It's not what you think.” Bernie says. She takes a deep breath. “Cameron texted last night to wish me a Happy New Year.” Bernie is grinning from ear to ear and she looks so genuinely and completely thrilled at this small effort at reconciliation from her eldest child that Serena almost cries. 

Instead she reaches out and takes Bernie’s hand, giving it a squeeze. “Oh Bernie” she says with a smile “I'm so pleased for you.” 

They sit there, looking at one another, until Serena realises that Bernie’s hand is still in hers, that she can feel Bernie’s long elegant fingers beneath her own. She removes her hand sharply, rising from her chair. 

“Right, well” Serena says “I suppose we’d better get on with things. Are you ready to do handover?”

Serena sees Bernie register the abrupt change of subject, watches as she decides not to question it. She gives Bernie a brief rundown of the patients, bids her have a good shift and slips outside. She just about holds it together as far as the peace garden, where she collapses on the bench in tears. 

She cries. Cries that Elinor will never again text her to wish her a Happy New Year. Cries that Bernie's children will. Cries at her own selfishness. Cries for the idiotic boy who drove drunk and died on her operating table. 

Minutes pass and then she feels someone sit down beside her, wrap an arm around her, pulling her against him. Serena turns into Hanssen’s shoulder and weeps. 

“Come, Ms Campbell” he says after a time. “Let me drive you home.”

***  
Hanssen insists not only on driving Serena home, but on coming inside and making her a cup of hot sweet tea and some toast. She eats the toast and attempts to drink the tea, but it’s revoltingly sugary. Hanssen watches her, unblinking, from the other side of the kitchen table.

“I’m fine now Henrik, honestly.” She says. “I'm very grateful for your thoughtfulness and for the lift home, but I'll be ok. I just need to sleep.”

“You do know you can call on me at any time, don't you?” he asks. 

She nods.

“I'll see myself out.” He rises from the table, depositing his mug in the sink, and makes to leave, pausing to rest his hand on her shoulder. She looks up at him. 

“We care about you Serena” he says quietly. “Don't forget.”

She nods again, doesn't trust herself to speak. She listens for the sound of Hanssen’s car departing, then drags herself upstairs.

***  
She works another night shift that evening, burying herself in patients and then furiously completing paperwork when the patients don’t need her. She leaves in the morning, goes home, sleeps for a few hours and then wakes, partly refreshed. 

The following day is the first anniversary of Elinor’s death. 

Serena has never really understood the preoccupation with anniversaries. They’re just days, after all. Numbers. A human construct invented to impose order on the vastness of time and space. Really, what does it signify that the earth has completed a full revolution around the earth since Ellie had died? The passage of a year should not serve to lessen or accentuate the pain. And yet, as the day approaches, she finds her thoughts drawn to Elinor more and more frequently. 

January 3rd is a bright, clear winter day, with a cloudless blue sky and a crisp frost. She collects Jason from Alan’s and drives them both to the cemetery. Edward and Liberty have already been, leaving behind them an enormous bouquet of white lilies. Various friends have left flowers too. She moves some of them aside to make space for her own, a dozen burgundy red roses, their petals velvety soft against the frozen ground. 

She stands by the grave, thinking about Elinor. She thinks Ellie is slipping away, by degrees. She struggles sometimes, to recall the sound of the voice and the brilliance of her smile. She knows she has recordings of Elinor’s voice, pictures of her smile, but feels somehow, that if she reminds herself, she will be remembering the reproductions, rather than Elinor herself. 

After a few minutes, she retreats, meanders through the cemetery leaving Jason for some time on his own at Elinor’s graveside. She stops now and then to look at the other graves. You can tell, she thinks, when someone particularly young has died: the abundance of flowers and cards; the occasional stuffed toy. 

When Jason has finished, they get back in the car and drive out to Burnham-on-Sea, where they purchase fish and chips and wander on the beach. They had come there in the summer after Jason had moved in, her, Jason and Elinor, for a day trip. Jason had taught Ellie to skip stones and then the two of them had attempted to show Serena, but with little success. She can picture it now, Elinor and Jason laughing at her feeble efforts, Elinor’s long hair whipping in the wind, her laugh infectious. She picks up a stone now, smooth and round and flat, tosses it from the shore’s edge. It bounces once, twice and then sinks into the waves. 

***  
It has been a positive day, she decides, as she drives home after dropping Jason back at Alan’s house. So often, she has dwelled on the fractures that had, on occasion, threatened to splinter her relationship with her daughter. It is nice, comforting, to remember the happiness Ellie had brought. 

The evening is cold and Serena runs herself a deep bubble bath, sliding into the water with relief. Afterwards she towel dries her hair, slips into her comfiest pyjamas and makes her way down to the kitchen. She is just contemplating what to have for dinner when the doorbell rings. 

Serena pads to the door, expecting Henrik, or perhaps Ric. But it's Bernie.

“Can I come in?” Bernie asks, and Serena stands aside as she steps through the door. “I'm not disturbing you, am I?”

Serena shakes her head.

“I thought…that you might like some company? But I can go, if you'd prefer?” Bernie looks nervous.

“I was just thinking about dinner” Serena says. “Have you eaten?” 

“No.”

“I don't think I'm in the mood for cooking, to be honest” Serena declares. “Is curry ok?”

Bernie smiles, nods. 

When they have ordered, Serena wanders over to wine rack and contemplates the bottles, then pulls out the Barossa Valley Shiraz Bernie had bought her for Christmas. She carries it to the sofa and sets it down, fetches a decanter and the wide bowled glasses she saves for when she's drinking decent red in company. She ponders briefly when they were last used and concludes it must have been with Sian, before Elinor died. 

Bernie's eyes widen at the sight of the bottle. “Serena, I didn't intend that you drink that with me. You should save it, for someone who'll appreciate it. A special occasion.”

“If the anniversary of my daughter’s death doesn't merit a ridiculously expensive bottle of wine, I'm damned if I know what does.” Serena retorts, as she removes the foil covering the cork. “Besides, who am I going to share it with if not you?” 

“I don't know- Raf? He can usually be persuaded to join you in a glass of Shiraz.” Bernie teases gently. 

Serena throws her a look of mock horror. “Do you seriously think I'm wasting wine this good on a registrar?”

She plunges the corkscrew in, twisting firmly, before removing the cork with an audible pop. Serena pours the wine gently into the decanter and takes an appreciative sniff. 

“How was your day?” Bernie asks as Serena pours the wine into the glasses. 

Serena ponders. “Cathartic” she says at last. “I haven't been back to the cemetery, not since her funeral. I just…couldn't. I feel…Oh, I don't know. ‘At peace’ seems such a cliche, but I do feel more accepting I think. For so long, all I could think about was her death; today I remembered her alive.”

“That's good.”

“Yes, yes I think it is. I think for the first time since she died, I can begin to see how there might be a future, without her.”

Bernie nods but says nothing, merely reaching out to squeeze Serena’s hand. They sit in silence for a long while, watch the flames dance in the grate of the fire. 

“Tell me about your day” Serena says eventually.

Bernie talks her through the patients she has seen during her shift. Recounts a furious disagreement with Ric about surgical options for one of them. 

It is only when the doorbell rings to signal the arrival of the curry that Serena realises Bernie is still holding her hand. She untangles their fingers with regret and stands up to answer the door.

They eat their meal in a companionable quiet, breaking the silence only to comment on the food. When they have finished, they move back to the living room and Serena pours them each another glass of wine, before settling down on the sofa, drawing her feet up and tucking them under her. 

“Will you tell me about her?” Bernie asks suddenly. “Elinor.” She takes a cautious glance at Serena. “I realised today I know so little about her.”

“I” Serena begins, intending to demur, but instead stops. “I’d like that I think. I think its time.”

She rises and moves to the bookcase, taking down a faded and worn photograph album. “Old fashioned of me, I know” she says with a smile “but I always liked having a physical copy.” She opens the album to a photograph of Elinor at four years old, grin on her face as she feeds a giraffe at the zoo.

“That's one of my favourites” she says. “It was such a wonderful day, just the two of us. I love that age- they have so much personality and they're old enough to have proper conversations.”

She turns the pages slowly, talks to Bernie about the photographs, tells stories about Elinor growing up. Bernie is largely silent, interjecting only occasionally with a comment or question, but mainly content to listen to Serena talk about her daughter.

“I can't remember her as perfect” Serena says eventually. “I won’t. She wasn't. She was bossy and stubborn and infuriating. She was spoiled. Both of us spoiled her after the divorce. Edward felt guilty for not being there and I felt guilty for breaking up the family. And spending too much time at work. I indulged her and she could be horrifically selfish. But she could also be kind and witty and tremendously good company. And I miss her very much.”

Bernie picks up her glass of wine, raises it, and looks directly into Serena’s eyes. 

“To Elinor” she says, quietly.

Serena smiles, raises her glass to Bernie’s. “To Elinor.”

***  
Later that evening, when Bernie has departed, Serena locks up the house, climbs the stairs and collapses into bed, exhausted by the physical and emotional exhaustion of the day. She is just drifting off into sleep when her mobile signals the arrival of a message. Bernie. 

_Just got home. Hope you sleep well. B x_

__

__

_You too. S xx_

Serena smiles and replaces the phone on the bedside table. She lies on her back in the semi darkness and finds herself thinking, not for the first time in recent weeks, about Erica. 

***  
Serena had been introduced to Erica at a dinner party in Cambridge, Massachusetts, where she had spent the latter part of her sabbatical. After her sojourn in Paris Serena had meandered through Europe for two months. She had drunk wine in the Loire Valley; watched sunflowers bloom in Provence; wandered the corridors of the Uffizi; and marvelled at the Alhambra. She had immersed herself in beauty and allowed herself time and space to grieve, away from Holby and the hospital and Elinor. 

Eventually the wanderlust had abated and she had felt the pull towards order and routine and predictability. She had headed to Cambridge, because it was familiar and she had been happy there for the most part. There Serena had passed a peaceful couple of months, filling her time with a little guest lecturing and a little catch-up with old friends. She had felt herself beginning to heal, slowly but surely. The pain still there but time and distance dulling its ache. 

Serena had almost not gone to the party, had only changed her mind when she realised she hadn't left her apartment for three weekends in a row. Erica was a cardio-thoracic surgeon who practised at a hospital near the campus. She and Serena had hit it off at once, trading stories about obstreperous colleagues and improbable patients, the difficulties of crawling up the greasy pole of surgery as a woman. At the end of the evening, Erica had suggested dinner later in the week and Serena had said yes without a second thought, only realising later, as she switched off her bedside lamp and settled down to sleep, that the invitation might be a date. 

She had agonised about it the whole of Sunday, wondering if she should cancel. Had thought perhaps she ought to- she hadn't wanted to mislead Erica. But in the end she had thought she’d just go, wing it, as it were, and work out how she felt about it being a date if it did in fact turn out to be one. 

They had met for dinner at a restaurant downtown. The food had been fabulous, the wine delicious and the company delightful. Erica had flirted; Serena had flirted back. It had definitely been a date, she’d decided, as they ordered dessert to share and an extra spoon. When Erica had driven her home, she had let her hand fall onto Serena’s knee; and when she’d parked in front of Serena’s building and leaned over to kiss her, Serena had kissed back. 

Sex with Erica had been fun, exciting, occasionally surprising. For two weeks they had seen each other every day, meeting for dinner or drinks or a movie and then going back to Serena’s tiny apartment or Erica’s immaculate townhouse and making love until the early hours of the morning. But when the lease on Serena’s apartment had finished at the end of the month, she had known it was time to move on. She had liked Erica, had found her extremely attractive, but known it could never last. 

She hadn't told Erica about Elinor. 

She had told herself she was enjoying the freedom to shrug off her grief, a brief respite from the endless mourning. That she was giving herself permission to be happy. She had told herself that she didn’t want to mar their time together. All these things had been true, but they had not been the reason for her silence. The truth had been that she hadn't wanted to share Elinor. Not with Erica. Not with anyone. Not yet. 

It was not that Serena was incapable of speaking about Elinor. When Serena had wandered, rather aimlessly, across Europe in the early weeks of her sabbatical, she had talked about Elinor freely and easily with strangers. In her regular Skype conferences with Jason, they had spoken of Elinor often. And on Elinor’s birthday, she had phoned Edward, their first contact since she had hounded him with calls after Elinor’s death. They had talked, cordially, for perhaps the first time since Edward’s disastrous sojourn at Holby. They had reminisced about the day of Elinor’s birth, when Edward had been stuck in surgery until half an hour before the main event; they had recalled the birthday party of a five year old Ellie with pigtails, delighting in her new bike as she rode it around the garden; and the fifteen year old who had desperately wanted a party without adult supervision (Edward had said yes; Serena had said no and the resulting row between mother and daughter had led Elinor to an epic three day sulk). 

But she hadn't told Erica, couldn't tell Erica about Elinor. Because Erica had had enough presence in Serena’s life that Serena would have had to do more than sketch the bare facts. She would have had to expose a part of herself that is still raw. That part of herself that is a mother but yet is not. Not any more. 

There had seemed to Serena to be something so very final about commencing a new relationship when Elinor is dead. Final in terms of her grief but also final in terms of Elinor's absence from her life: to meet someone, and answer the question ‘do you have children’ with not ‘no’ but ‘not any more’. It marks the end of one identity and the start of another. She had not been ready for any of that. Not yet. And Erica had not been the right person. But Erica had made Serena think that maybe one day there might be a right person and for that Serena is very grateful.

***  
And as January 3rd ticks quietly over into January 4th, Serena lies, still awake, still thinking. About Erica. And about Bernie. 

***  
The following weeks are the most content Serena has known since Elinor’s death. Serena feels more settled than at any point in the preceding year. Construction finishes on the new trauma bay and while it is hard work, the new trauma centre, it is immensely rewarding. Serena finds it exhilarating, that kind of work: never knowing what will come through the doors; the adrenaline rush of jumping into surgery with Bernie at a moment’s notice. Serena begins to understand a little bit why Bernie had loved the army so much. The pull of this kind of medicine, the immediacy and importance of it, is thrilling and addictive. 

Jason finally moves back in with Serena and it is wonderful to have him home. Jason isn't her son, of course, but he is the closest thing to a child she has left and for a while she had feared she had lost them both, Elinor and Jason, when Elinor died. There is a comforting familiarity about the routine of everyday life with Jason: fish and chips and Countdown and endless cups of tea. 

And then there is Bernie. Bernie, who is thriving on a combination of a return to trauma medicine and her reconciliation with Cameron. She is happy for the first time since Serena has known her and Bernie’s happiness is both infectious and magnetic. Serena knows now that she is far more attracted to Bernie than she ought to be, that her feelings for Bernie break all her usual rules concerning relationships with colleagues, as she confesses to Ian late January. Ian gives her a pointed look which Serena thinks indicates that he’d guessed she had feelings for Bernie long ago.

Serena sees, so very clearly, the potential for matters to go hideously wrong in the event of something happening between her and Bernie. They have come so far in such a short time, to develop both a fantastic working partnership and a deep and abiding friendship and it seems like madness to contemplate the possibility of ruining both of these by attempting something more. But at the same time, Serena is unable to let go of the persistent niggle that reminds her that it might not end in disaster. The same niggle that tells her that she and Bernie would be wonderful together, that life is short and time fleeting and she must grab opportunities for happiness with both hands and not let go. 

***  
At the end of February, Serena’s newfound equilibrium is painfully tested. Edward phones, in itself virtually unheard of. She is in her office when he rings and is caught off guard by the unexpected contact. She answers, cautious as to his intentions, listens in silence to his hesitant explanation for calling, congratulates him and Liberty, and hangs up.

“Serena?”

She starts. In the shock of Edward’s news, she had quite forgotten that Bernie was in the room.

“Are you ok?” Bernie asks. 

“I..” Serena opens her mouth intending to say she's fine, to pretend that nothing is wrong, but she can't. 

“Liberty’s pregnant” she says, succinctly. 

Bernie stares at her. “Oh” she says, apparently unable to provide further comment. “Stay there” she says eventually, and hurries out of the room. 

She returns five minutes later bearing cups from Pulses and silently hands Serena her coat, before taking her by the arm and steering her towards the lifts. They are halfway there before Serena registers that Bernie is taking her up to the roof. It's not a spot she usually frequents, though she knows it's a favoured haunt of Bernie’s.

They perch side by side on the metal staircase of the fire escape, hands wrapped around their coffees for warmth. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Bernie asks eventually. 

“Not a lot to say.” Serena replies. “Edward is having another child. It’s not even a surprise really: Elinor joked about it when he first married Liberty, that she might end up with a sibling.”

Bernie nods. 

“And I know I'm being horribly unfair and this isn't the case but I feel as though he's replacing her. And I'm angry. I'm angry that he's replacing her and…” she tails off.

“You're angry at the unfairness of it” Bernie finishes. “That he still has a chance to be a father.”

“Yes.”

The dam breaks and the tears start to flow and Bernie sets down her cup, enfolds Serena in her arms and holds her while she cries. 

“Thanks” Serena says, a few minutes later.

“You're very welcome.”

They finish their shifts and exit the building together. Bernie walks Serena to her car and then plucks her keys from her hand and ushers Serena to the passenger door. 

Half an hour later, Serena finds herself seated on the sofa with a glass of wine in her hand, while Bernie clatters round the kitchen unloading the dishwasher and making carbonara. 

“Thank you” Serena says quietly. “For knowing I needed not to be on my own tonight.” Bernie smiles in response. 

Serena hadn't thought she had much appetite but the pasta is delicious and she surprises herself by having seconds. She glances up at Bernie and finds the blonde smiling at her across the table. 

“How” Serena asks, “do you eat like this and look like that?”

Bernie blushes scarlet. “I don't” she says. “Eat like this” she explains. “Not much point just for one. It's nice to have someone to cook for.”

“Well you can come and cook for me any time” Serena says, without thinking. 

They finish their meal and clear away together. Stowing plates in the dishwasher and putting the leftovers in the fridge with an easy rhythm which belies the fact that the activity is entirely novel. 

They migrate to the living room with the remainder of the wine and hunt through Netflix for something light and undemanding. Unfortunately it turns out to be light, undemanding and hideously sentimental and Serena can't prevent the tears from starting to fall again. Bernie shuffles to Serena's end of the sofa, pulls her close and kisses the top of her head. Serena cries again, before slipping, exhausted into sleep. 

***  
When Serena wakes it is the middle of the night, she and Bernie are cuddled together. She contemplates waking Bernie, knows she probably should, but she feels so comfortable that she really can't bear to move. Instead she reaches up to pluck the blanket from the top of the sofa, hoicks it over them and allows herself to drift back to sleep. 

She wakes again the following morning just after six, still entwined with Bernie. She feels safe and cherished and loved, which is absurd because while Bernie certainly cares about her (as her colleague, as her co-lead, as her friend) it is certainly nothing more than that. Serena can tell the moment that Bernie wakes: blonde tenses and a rigidity suddenly appears in her arms. 

“Good morning.” Serena says quietly. 

“Morning” Bernie says after a pause.

They lie in silence until Bernie appears to realise that her arm is still wrapped around Serena’s waist and withdraws it hurriedly. Then she abruptly rises from the sofa and vanishes to the bathroom.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So we come to the end. Thank you to everyone who has left kudos and commented: it means a lot. 
> 
> Huge thanks to ddagent for her editing prowess, amazing suggestions and incredible support. This fic is so much better for your contributions. And thank you for the cheesecake too ;)

Serena pauses outside the doors to AAU, nervous about entering. She is uncertain how to respond to Bernie, how Bernie will respond to _her_ following her precipitous exit from Serena’s house two hours earlier. She knows Bernie is already on the ward (the Mazda is in the car park) and she has stopped at Pulses to pick up coffee and pastries: less an olive branch than an ice breaker. Whatever else her feelings might be, Bernie is her colleague, her closest confidant, her dearest friend. She doesn't want the awkwardness of the morning to fester. 

She swipes her pass at the card reader and shoulders the door, her eyes automatically sweeping the ward in search of her quarry. But Bernie is nowhere to be seen. There is, Serena supposed, no reason why she should be there: her shift doesn't start for half an hour. Serena enters their office, to find Bernie’s coat and scarf hanging in the corner, a low hum from her terminal, but no blonde trauma surgeon. She sets Bernie’s coffee and her almond croissant down on her desk, switches on her own PC, intent on taking advantage of a seemingly quiet ward to make a dent in the never ending stream of administrative demands. 

Twenty minutes later Serena is engrossed in a report on mortality statistics when the door opens. She looks up to see Bernie, clad in scrubs and grey hoodie. Bernie looks shocked to see Serena seated at her desk and Serena has the feeling that Bernie’s tardy arrival is deliberate: that she had delayed coming down to the ward in the hope that Serena would already be engaged with patients, avoiding the difficult conversation. 

“Serena!”

“Hello.” Serena gives Bernie a warm smile; hopes she manages to convey how welcome it is to see her. She catches a whiff of cigarette smoke as Bernie enters the room. 

Bernie comes to a halt by her desk, staring wordlessly at the cup and the paper bag.

“I thought you might need it” Serena offers. 

“Thank you.” Bernie doesn't meet her eyes. “I just need a quick word with Fletch.” 

And with that she vanishes. Again. 

***  
By lunchtime, Serena knows that Bernie is avoiding her. Ordinarily, when their shifts coincide, they work together to run the ward, juggling patients and juniors, and operating together when they can. But Serena has barely seen Bernie all morning. She sits at her desk, staring at a patient’s scan but not really seeing it, her attention focussed on the ward through the window. 

Eventually, she spies Bernie on the other side of the ward, talking to Morven. Serena nearly jumps out of her chair in her eagerness to reach Bernie before the other woman disappears again. 

“I've been looking for you.”

“Really?” Bernie’s eyes do not move from the computer screen. 

“Yes. I was wondering if I could call on your assistance. Mr Prentice, bed 7. Crush injury to both legs necessitating vein grafts.”

“Uh-huh.” Bernie is still staring intently at a patient record. 

Serena is acutely aware that this very odd interchange is being witnessed by Morven, who is looking nearly as bewildered as Serena feels. 

“Yes, I was wondering if you’d care to lend a hand?”

“It's a vascular injury. I'm sure you don't need me.”

“It's a trauma sustained injury; I thought you might be interested.”

Bernie flashes a quick, tight, smile. “It's kind of you to think of it but I'm afraid I'm very busy today. It sounds like an excellent teaching case though. Excuse me, I have patients.”

“Right then Dr Digby, looks like it's you and me.”

***  
The remainder of the week drags, the relationship between the two of them awkward, as Bernie maintains a firm distance at all times. It feels, Serena thinks, as though they have got drunk and had an ill advised one night stand, rather than simply fallen asleep on a sofa. Serena rather wishes she had the memory of spectacular sex to treasure (she's thought about it rather more than she’d care to admit, sex with Bernie, and is quite certain it would be spectacular) rather than just being stuck with the silence and over solicitous politeness. 

Matters do not improve over the fortnight which follows, not least because they barely see one another. Bernie is in charge of the March rota and has them on opposing shifts as much as possible, so that they see one another only at handover, where they converse politely about patients. Other than this, their only communication is through oddly formal emails about AAU administration. 

Serena misses Bernie fiercely. She had not fully understood before how integral Bernie is to her life. How much she appreciates Bernie’s presence and support, as her co-lead on AAU and as her friend. She has always got along well with her colleagues, shared drinks and traded anecdotes, but she is close to few, and those few are marked by barriers: Henrik is her boss; Raf her junior; Ric is her friend but also her rival. Bernie is her equal. 

***  
It takes three weeks after Edward’s bombshell, three weeks after their awkward wake up, for the tension to finally break. Serena hears the doorbell ring as she is stepping out of the shower. Internally cursing the charity collector who is probably leaning on her doorbell, she wraps her hair in a towel and herself in a dressing gown and heads downstairs, preparing to give whoever it is extremely short shrift. 

“Bernie!”

Serena stands in the doorway. Bernie has barely spoken to her in weeks, save necessary communication about staff and patients. _What on earth is she doing here?_

“Jason invited me for dinner.” The smile on Bernie’s face is rapidly turning to confusion, horror and panic. “I assumed it was ok with you.”

Serena reaches out to pat Bernie’s arm. “It’s fine. You're always welcome.” She ushers Bernie into the hall. “It does explain why Jason was so eager to volunteer to fetch the supper though. Go and make yourself at home, I’ll just…” she gestures vaguely at her attire. 

In her bedroom, Serena hesitates. She had been intending to change into pyjamas after her shower but now wonders whether she shouldn't put some proper clothes on instead. _Sod it,_ she thinks. _It's not as though Bernie hasn't seen you in your PJs before._

__When Serena reaches the kitchen, Bernie has already laid the table for three and uncorked a bottle of wine. Serena waits as she pours two large glasses, handing one to Serena._ _

__“Thank you.”_ _

__“Least I could do. I'm sorry, I had no idea Jason hadn't asked you.”_ _

__“It's fine. It's good to see you.”_ _

__There is a drip of wine sliding down the outside of Bernie’s glass. Serena watches as Bernie catches it with the pad of her thumb, before looking up at Serena through her absurdly shaggy fringe._ _

__“I don't want to make you uncomfortable.”_ _

__“You're not. You couldn't.”_ _

__The moment is broken by Jason’s return, fish and chips for three in hand. He pauses in the kitchen doorway._ _

__“Jason, you didn't tell me Bernie was joining us for dinner.”_ _

__“I invited Bernie for fish and chips because I wanted to talk to her and she never comes around any more. I don't even see her at the hospital, as I work the same shifts as you and you work different shifts to Bernie now.” Jason replies with unerring honesty. Bernie is staring at the floor._ _

__“Can I suggest we sit down before the chips get cold?” Serena removes the plates from the warming drawer and places them on the table._ _

__“So Jason, what did you want to talk to me about” Bernie asks, when the fish and chips have been unwrapped and they are seated at the dining table._ _

__Serena is expecting Jason to interrogate Bernie about military insignia, or perhaps the history of the Middle East, in which he has recently developed an interest, so she is sufficiently shocked to nearly drop her wine glass when she hears Jason’s response._ _

__“Girls.”_ _

__“I'm sorry?” Bernie splutters through a mouthful of Shiraz: she has clearly no more anticipated this particular topic of conversation than Serena had._ _

__“Girls” Jason repeats. “Specifically, how to ask a girl out.”_ _

__Bernie stares at him, open-mouthed. Serena can't help but smile at her impersonation of a rabbit caught in headlights. ._ _

__“I tried asking Fletch and Raf, but I didn't find either of them particularly helpful. I thought you might have some good advice. I can't ask Auntie Serena because she doesn't like girls.”_ _

__Serena contemplates correcting this assumption of Jason’s but concludes that now is perhaps not the time to embark upon a discussion of her sexual preferences and instead opts to rescue Bernie, who is clearly floundering in the face of the unexpected request for assistance._ _

__“Why don't you explain why you're asking Jason: it might help Bernie to answer.”_ _

__“There’s a girl who goes to the local history group at the library. Her name is Jennifer and she’s very nice. I’d like to ask her out for a date, but I don't know where to take her- and I'm not sure how to ask.”_ _

__Bernie takes a deep breath. “Well, I’d recommend something you'd both enjoy. How about the castle as you're both interested in history? You could look around the exhibits and then go for a cup of tea and a slice of cake afterwards.”_ _

__Jason ponders this. “She likes lemon drizzle cake” he offers eventually. “Do they do lemon drizzle cake at the cafe in the castle?”_ _

__“I don't know I'm afraid Jason. Perhaps you could look up the menu online. And if not perhaps you could find somewhere else that does serve lemon drizzle.”_ _

__Jason nods. “But how do I ask her?”_ _

__Bernie smiles at him. “I think you just have to ask, Jason.”_ _

__“But what if she says no?”_ _

__“Why would she say no?”_ _

__Jason regards Bernie seriously. “Well it doesn't seem very likely to work, does it?”_ _

__“It doesn't?”_ _

__“Well it clearly doesn't work for you- you don't have a girlfriend.”_ _

__Bernie looks completely poleaxed by Jason’s frank dismissal of her love life and Serena tries and fails to contain a snicker, earning her an affronted scowl from her co-lead._ _

__“I don't see why you're laughing Auntie Serena. You don't appear to have any more success with romantic relationships than Bernie does.”_ _

__It is Bernie’s turn to splutter with suppressed laughter, Serena’s turn to glare at Bernie’s amusement._ _

__“May I be excused Auntie Serena? I have some research to do.” Jason stacks his plate in the dishwasher and withdraws to his room._ _

__Serena stares resolutely at the table until she hears Jason’s tread on the landing upstairs and then chances a look at Bernie. The expression on Bernie’s face undoes Serena completely and she collapses into a fit of giggles which leads to Bernie letting forth her ridiculous honk. Serena laughs even more at the delightful sound; she hadn't realised how much she had missed it._ _

__“What do you think Fletch’s suggestion was?” Bernie asks with a quirk of an eyebrow, once they have both recovered the power of speech._ _

__“I dread to think, but I suspect Jennifer will be very pleased that he’s taking your advice instead. Can I tempt you to another glass of wine?”_ _

__Bernie smiles at her and Serena feels the weight of the last three weeks lift completely._ _

__“You certainly can.”_ _

__***  
After fish and chips night, Serena’s relationship with Bernie returns to normal and they are once more able to share coffees in Pulses and wine at Albie’s and jokes in theatre. But Bernie’s reaction to the sofa incident still strikes Serena as odd. She understands of course that the situation might have been a bit more intimate than Bernie was comfortable with, but it wasn't as though anything had actually happened. Certainly, the circumstances didn't seem to Serena to merit the newfound refusal by Bernie of invitations to Albie’s for drinks with the rest of the team; the way Bernie avoids Serena’s eyes unless the contact is absolutely necessary; the sudden imposition of clear physical distance between them at all times. _ _

__Unless…unless._ _

__Serena has always assumed that her feelings for Bernie are entirely unreciprocated. She has had no reason to think otherwise: Bernie has never given any indication that she views Serena as anything other than a colleague. But what if she is wrong? What if Bernie does feel something and is ignoring it as assiduously as Serena herself has done? After all, Serena realises, Bernie no doubt assumes Serena to be irredeemably and unattainably heterosexual. If Bernie does have feelings for Serena, she’s hardly likely to lock the office door, pin her to a filing cabinet and snog her senseless, because she probably thinks Serena is more likely to initiate a sexual harassment complaint than to respond positively. Maybe, just maybe, there is something there._ _

__***  
Once the idea occurs, it's as though the genie is out of the bottle and Serena can't help thinking about it. About her and Bernie, together. Serena rolls the idea around her brain for the next few weeks, contemplating the possibility that Bernie might be attracted to her and that a relationship with her could be a realistic prospect. She thinks about whether that is something she wants. Not Bernie specifically (of course she wants Bernie), but a relationship more generally. Is it something she is ready for? She rather thinks that she is, at least if the relationship in question would be with Bernie Wolfe. _ _

Serena wonders what Elinor would have made of it all: Serena having a relationship with a woman; Serena having a relationship with _Bernie_. She suspects there would have been a period of tension: Elinor had always had a flair for the dramatic. But Elinor had loved her, had wanted her to be happy; she would have come round in the end. Jason, she is sure, would take it in his stride. He likes Bernie, enjoys her company. It would be straightforward for Jason. 

__She watches Bernie constantly, trying to ascertain how she feels. She gazes at her across the operating theatre, where all but her eyes are hidden from view by the surgical mask. She stares at her in their shared office as Bernie concentrates on anything that isn't paperwork. And she sneaks glances at her in Albie’s, surrounded by their colleagues and friends._ _

__It is in Albie’s that she sees it for the first time, that much as she watches Bernie, sometimes Bernie watches her. They are seated at a table, Serena and Bernie and Morven and Raf, Serena recounting a long and particularly frustrating series of meetings with members of the Board._ _

__“I had to explain to him at least three times the clinical advantages of having a dedicated trauma bay” Serena complains. “And then he had the audacity to suggest that as a surgeon, he wouldn't expect me to understand the difficult decisions that need to be made in these straitened times for the NHS.”_ _

__She takes a fortifying sip of Shiraz and glances to her left, only to realise that Bernie is looking at her intently. There is a softness in her eyes which Serena rarely sees there, except when Bernie speaks about her children. It is an expression of affection and fondness and perhaps, just perhaps, a little bit more. Deep in her chest, Serena feels the faint glow of hope._ _

__***  
Eventually, one very ordinary day in April, she finds herself in theatre with Bernie. The patient is a young man, the victim of a vicious knife attack, and there are multiple stab wounds to the abdomen. They struggle to get the blood loss under control. _ _

__Half an hour into the operation he arrests. They shock him, administer adrenaline. Bernie’s fingers dive back into the abdominal cavity, attempting to suture an injury she can barely see for bleeding, but there is no output on the monitors. They shock again. Still nothing._ _

__“Bernie” Serena says gently “he’s lost too much blood.”_ _

__“No!” Bernie is vehement. “I've nearly got this, give it one more chance.”_ _

__Serena looks at the monitors, sees the flatlined heart rate. She is forcibly reminded of that day, months ago now, when they had operated together for the first time. She looks back to Bernie, sees the determination in her eyes, the plea for Serena to agree. She had doubted Bernie that day and been proved wrong. It is different now: she knows Bernie, she trusts her implicitly, as a surgeon and as a friend._ _

__“Ok” she says, “ok- one more round.”_ _

__They shock the boy again and this time the heart jerks into rhythm._ _

__“Pressure” Bernie commands and Serena does as she is told, watches as Bernie works, swift and meticulous. Seconds later, his blood pressure begins to rise. She peers intently at the abdominal cavity and realises that Bernie has succeeded in stemming the bleeding._ _

__“You did it” she says and she is unable to stop the pride from seeping into her voice._ _

__There is no response._ _

Serena looks up from the patient, to Bernie and is struck momentarily speechless. Bernie is staring back at her, the look she is giving Serena so heated that Serena feels a blush suffusing her face under her mask and her scrub cap. She looks away, her mind racing, because she knows what that look means. She’s never seen it on Bernie before, but it's familiar enough. _Desire._

____

__***  
So now she knows. Knows that it is not one sided, this thing between her and Bernie. It is not one sided and she is not imagining it. Serena wants Bernie and she is fairly sure that Bernie wants her too. _ _

__The problem is that Serena has no idea how to get her and Bernie from friends and colleagues and co-leads to something more. She supposes she should start by letting Bernie know that she is not as unrelentingly straight as she's sure Bernie believes her to be. With the benefit of hindsight, she wishes she had taken advantage of the opening Jason had unwittingly given her when he sought Bernie’s advice about Jennifer: awkward as it undoubtedly would have been, at least Bernie would know._ _

__Serena looks for an opening, but this doesn't seem to be information that is easy to slip into everyday discourse. She can hardly start a conversation with ‘and by the way you should probably know that I'm bisexual.’ She does once try initiating a discussion with Bernie about her sabbatical, with the intention of bringing matters round to Erica, but they get sidetracked by a fierce debate about whether, given the option, they would choose to move to France or Italy. And so Bernie ends the evening enlightened as to Serena’s views on Post-Impressionism and Renaissance architecture, but none the wiser about her sexuality._ _

__The other option is just to throw caution to the wind and snog the living daylights of Bernie. This is a course which appeals to Serena’s practical side and she rather suspects that Bernie, woman of action that she is, would appreciate it too. But then she worries that being so forward might rather terrify Bernie out of her wits and cause her to run a mile, an outcome which Serena is desperate to avoid. All in all, Serena concludes that launching into the snogging without preamble probably isn't the best of plans._ _

__So she waits, not always entirely patiently, for an opportunity to confess her feelings._ _

__***  
It is May Day and it feels as though Spring has finally arrived, a day of glorious sunshine warming the ground and lifting everyone's mood. They are both ploughing through paperwork, Bernie on one side of the office and Serena the other. Serena’s phone chirrups several times in the course of a few minutes, indicating the receipt of a series of messages._ _

__“Someone’s popular” Bernie murmurs with a smile._ _

__“So it would seem” Serena responds, reaching for her phone. She picks it up, unlocks it and reads the messages. Erica is texting her a running commentary on an extremely dull presentation by her extremely dull boss, who Serena had once had the misfortune of meeting at a staff party. She laughs._ _

__Bernie looks up at her “what's so funny?”_ _

__“Oh, just messages from a very bored friend” she says, with a smile. And then she realises that this is precisely the moment she has been looking for, the opportunity to initiate a conversation she has wanted to start for weeks._ _

__“Well” Serena says carefully “I suppose she's more of an ex really.”_ _

__Serena looks up cautiously, to find Bernie staring at her open-mouthed._ _

__“She?” Bernie repeats, the word sounding slightly strangled._ _

__“Yes” Serena says, with a firm nod. “Her name is Erica. She's in cardio-thoracics, lives in Massachusetts.” Having finally managed to broach the subject, Serena is anxious to avoid to any misunderstanding and wants to make abundantly clear not just that Erica is a woman but that she is very much out of the picture romantically._ _

__“Erica?” Bernie says weakly. “You mean you…that is, I didn't know. That you…”_ _

__“Like women?” Serena supplies. “Yes. It's a fairly recent thing for me, and there haven't been many, but, yes.”_ _

__“Excuse me.” Bernie rises from her seat and bolts from the room._ _

__***  
Predictably, Serena finds Bernie on the roof, wrapped in her favoured grey hoody, unlit cigarette in hand. Serena walks over to her, stands next to her looking out at the view over Holby. _ _

__“I'm sorry” Serena says without preamble. “I wasn't consciously concealing it from you. It just never came up in conversation. I'm sorry if you feel I lied to you or misled you. It wasn't my intention. To be honest, it's not something I've really spoken about, except with Ian.”_ _

__“Another ex?” Bernie asks flippantly._ _

__“Therapist.” Serena corrects. “And then when I realised that you didn't know, that you ought to know, I just didn't know how to bring it up.”_ _

__“I'm sorry” Bernie says. “I don't know why I'm reacting like this.”_ _

__“Don't you?” Serena asks. “Would you like me to take a guess?” She reaches over, takes Bernie's right hand in her left and laces their fingers together. Then she reaches up to trace Bernie’s cheek with her thumb. Bernie closes her eyes and hums with pleasure. Serena lets her hand slip round to cup Bernie’s neck and pulls them together to kiss her gently._ _

__Bernie's eyes open in shock. “Serena…” she breathes._ _

__“Shh” Serena says and kisses her again. This time Bernie responds. They kiss until they are both breathless and then they pull apart, laughing._ _

__“Sorry” Serena says. Except she isn't sorry, not at all, and neither it seems is Bernie because in response she simply gathers Serena to her again and kisses her once more, her fingers carding through Serena’s hair. Serena moans with pleasure in response and her hands slide to Bernie’s waist, her fingers slipping under the hem of Bernie’s scrub top, under the t-shirt she wears underneath, until her fingertips are resting on Bernie’s bare skin._ _

__It is electric, the feeling of Bernie beneath her hands and Bernie clearly feels it too because suddenly she pulls away from Serena._ _

__“We should stop” she says._ _

__“Should we?” Serena replies with a wicked grin._ _

__“Yes. We need to talk about this, before it goes too far.”_ _

__“What do you mean, ‘too far’? Serena asks with a trace of alarm. “I thought- I thought you wanted this too.”_ _

__“Oh Serena, of course I do. I just meant that I don't want to get carried away and attempt to ravish you on the roof of the hospital where anybody could walk in at any moment.” Bernie says firmly._ _

__“Well, that seems reasonable.” Serena agrees with a smirk._ _

__“And” Bernie takes a deep breath. “I think we should probably talk, before things go any further.”_ _

__“Ok” Serena says. “Tonight?”_ _

__Bernie nods. “My place?” she suggests._ _

__“Ok.”_ _

__***  
The remainder of the shift drags by. Serena spends it watching Bernie, when she’s within her line of sight, and looking for her when she isn't. She's so distracted that Raf has to rescue her from near disaster in theatre._ _

__“Is everything ok Serena?” He asks afterwards, as they pull off their gloves._ _

__“I'm fine Raf, honestly” Serena reassures him. “Just a bit tired.”_ _

__She catches Bernie in the office before she leaves._ _

__“I'm just going to nip home and make sure Jason’s ok, and then I'll be round later, if that's alright.”_ _

__“Of course” Bernie agrees. “I'll be waiting.”_ _

__***  
An hour and a half later Serena is stood on Bernie’s doorstep, waiting for her to answer, like she had all those months ago, only this time with a far more pleasant purpose in mind. _ _

__The door swings open._ _

__“Hello you” Bernie says and smiles at Serena._ _

__“Hello yourself. I brought wine” Serena brandishes it rather unnecessarily._ _

__Bernie takes the bottle and unwraps it. “This isn't Shiraz” she observes._ _

__“Well spotted” Serena quips. And then, by way of explanation. “While I am admittedly fond of Shiraz, you like Chablis, so I brought you Chablis.”_ _

__“Well it will go beautifully with the risotto, thank you.”_ _

__“You're really quite domesticated aren't you?” Serena teases._ _

__“I don't know why you have this image of me as a culinary inadequate” Bernie complains. “I’m a perfectly competent cook. There's just not much call for three course meals in a war zone.”_ _

__“I'm sorry” Serena says, sincerely, sensing she has touched a raw nerve. “I shouldn't tease.”_ _

__“No” Bernie sighs “I'm sorry for being so grumpy. I'm a bit nervous- I wanted to make something nice for you.”_ _

__“Well it smells delicious.”_ _

__They eat at the small table in Bernie’s kitchen, candles on the table and jazz on the stereo. They chat about inconsequential things: Jason’s newfound enthusiasm for Greek mythology; Raf’s upcoming date with the new registrar on ITU._ _

__Serena shifts her foot under the table and her toes graze against Bernie’s bare ankle, sending a frisson of excitement right through her. Then Bernie looks up at her and Serena knows that she feels it too, that she is just as affected by Serena as Serena is by her. The kitchen is suddenly thrumming with tension and Serena is half tempted to drag Bernie upstairs (or maybe just to the sofa), talking be damned._ _

__But she refrains, because she knows they really do need to talk, before things go any further. And so she turns the conversation to Evie’s new boyfriend._ _

__“She's too young for all of that, surely?” Bernie exclaims._ _

__“She's thirteen, Bernie.” Serena points out. “Elinor was boy crazy at that age.”_ _

__“I think Charlotte was buried in her bedroom with her headphones on.” Bernie smiles, reminiscently. “Writing excruciatingly bad poetry.”_ _

__Serena laughs._ _

__“She’s coming to lunch on Sunday” Bernie says suddenly. “Her and Cameron.”_ _

__“Oh, Bernie.” Serena reaches across the table and squeezes Bernie’s hand. She knows how much Bernie suffered, in this long spell of silence from her children, how hurt she has been by their rejection of her. “I'm so very happy for you.”_ _

__It is true, she realises. She is happy for Bernie. She is still sad for herself but she is happy that Bernie and Charlotte are finding their way to reconciliation._ _

__“I owe it to you, you know.” Bernie says quietly. “I’m not sure I would've kept trying, without…”_ _

__And Serena understands at once what Bernie isn't saying. That Serena’s situation, Serena’s loss, had terrified her. That that terror overcame her fear of Cameron and Charlotte’s rejection. Forced her to keep trying to make amends with her children._ _

__Serena stands, rounds the table to wrap her arms around Bernie, still seated. Bernie lets her head fall back against Serena’s chest and they stay that way, silent, for a long time._ _

__“Lovely as it is to hold you” Serena murmurs eventually “this is murder on my back. Do you think we could take things somewhere more comfortable?”_ _

__Bernie laughs softly and picks up the bottle and the glasses, leading Serena by the hand into the living room._ _

__“So” Serena says when they are seated side by side on the sofa, Bernie cuddled into Serena's side. “You wanted to talk?”_ _

__“I, yes.” She looks up at Serena. “Are you sure?”_ _

__“About?”_ _

__“About me? I'm a walking disaster with relationships in case you hadn't noticed. And we work together. Plus, well, I'm a woman.”_ _

__“I had noticed that” Serena says drily. “I told you- that's definitely not a problem. Part of the appeal in fact. “_ _

__“Really?” Bernie grins._ _

__“Really. I'll tell you the story some time.” Serena promises. “And as for the rest, we’ll work it out.” She takes a sip of wine. “Can I ask a question?”_ _

__Bernie nods. “Of course.”_ _

__“When did it start? For you?”_ _

__Bernie smiles. “That first day, when you came back from sabbatical, and you charged onto the ward with that young woman with the ulcer, I looked at you and I just thought ‘wow’. I'm sorry I went all officious by the way, you unsettled me._ _

__“You knows the only reason you got away with stealing my patient is because I found you so distracting?”_ _

__“Even then?”_ _

__“Even then” Serena confirms._ _

__Serena looks at Bernie, and Bernie is gazing back at her with an expression of utter devotion and Serena wonders how she could possibly have missed it for so long. How she could ever have thought Bernie indifferent? It is written on her face so plainly that it seems impossible that Serena could not have known._ _

__***  
Hours later, darkness has fallen and the house is illuminated only by the lamp in the corner. They have talked, and kissed, and laughed, and kissed some more. Serena feels absurdly happy. _ _

__“It's late” Bernie says, at last._ _

__“Can I stay?” Serena asks, nuzzling at Bernie’s neck._ _

__“I’d love that, but you have theatre scheduled for 8, remember? Demonstrating your surgical prowess to the Board.”_ _

__Serena groans and flops back on the sofa. “So I do. You're off tomorrow, aren't you?”_ _

__At Bernie's nod of confirmation Serena pulls out her phone. “Right, that decides it. Ric can take over the surgery. He was desperate to do it anyway.” She dashes off a quick text and tosses the phone onto the coffee table._ _

__“First she drinks white wine, then she passes over an opportunity to show off her brilliance” Bernie teases. “It really must be love.”_ _

__They stare at one another in shock._ _

__“I'm sorry” Bernie stammers. “I didn't mean anything by it, it just…” She trails off._ _

__“No, Bernie, you've nothing to be sorry about.” Serena takes a deep breath. “You're right, anyway.”_ _

__Serena locks eyes with Bernie, nervous of her reaction, because this is new and terrifying and it is much, much too soon to be thinking in those terms. Except she realises she already does._ _

__Bernie breaks into a smile that is pure joy and kisses Serena soundly._ _

__“Me too.”_ _

__“So I can stay?”_ _

__“You can stay.”_ _


End file.
